Saving Grace

by Morgan Hansen © 2007

 

Despite my ability to stop time, I am helpless to save her.

Grace Hunsecker, a 23 year-old grad student, has no idea the seconds remaining in her life can be counted on the fingers of a single hand. It saddens me to know that in a few moments she will be dead, stripped of life by the hideous monster who waits around the corner. I’ve only known her a short time, but I’ve come to find that she is not much different from myself, a bit sad on the inside, yet filled with hopes and dreams. Her dreams never realized, her future never written.

But for the moment she is safe, frozen in time, her thoughts still free of a horrific confusion. If I should let this world continue, I will be forced to witness what is certain. I can’t bear to share her realization that the deluge of blood is her own, and that even when his hand releases the grip on her mouth, there will be no breath to propel a scream. My only hope is that by the time he whispers his hideous mantra in her ear, she will be dead. Her last memory should be of her life, not of his sick credo. I can’t possibly let this happen.

He lies in wait, running on pure adrenaline, a barber’s razor grasped tightly in his hand. His face, an intense fusion of blood red eyes, smashed nose and obscene grimace. A scab on his cheek has reopened from unconscious raking with his cracked fingernails. He does this every time he’s about to kill, and it’s barely had time to heal. He is sweating profusely. For him there is no greater awareness to be lost in.

So, I can save her for the moment, but what good is delaying the inevitable?

John Wallace, a 38 year old ex-marine, ex-mechanic, ex-husband, ex-almost everything, has transformed into one thing, an expert killing machine. To the world he’s a monster with no face and no name other than the moniker he’s earned with his new skill. To me, he’s a pathetic culmination of circumstances, yet I haven’t decided if they created him or the other way around.

I want to leave them as is and she will never have to know what is to happen, safe in her last thought. But he, the monster, will not only be free but get to spend eternity in glorious anticipation. I know he’s come to enjoy that far more than the actual kill.

He has no idea that I know about his childhood, and all the things that have made him what he is today. Repeating them aloud can only help to rationalize what he’s done, and I refuse to do that. He’s not stupid though; only two of the girls looked like ‘her’, and the men were only a diversion. His obsession has worsened, as the ones that are ‘her’ are becoming increasingly difficult to resist. Grace will be the third. The detectives will start to question this. If only they could focus on the first kill, well, the ‘real’ first kill. Up until now, only John and I know about it. I wonder what he’d think if he knew that I knew the exact location of her body. I have no doubt his confidence would be shaken if he knew I could read his thoughts.

To be inside another’s head is to be free from secrets. The only lies are those that one tells to oneself and they are so very easy to spot, for they don’t last long and are quickly replaced by the truth. In John’s case the truth is that he’s lost control of himself. He tries to deny that the next girl will be ‘her’, but I know better. Scribbled in his tiny notebook are a collection of a dozen addresses of ‘her’. The ‘other’s list has all but been crossed out. These supposedly random killings, though exhilarating, were tedious to plan despite their necessity. Necessity, of course, has given way to the overly compelling urges to locate more of ‘her’. After Grace there will be no more ‘others’, only ‘her’.

John’s obsession will be his downfall, even I can see that. Unfortunately for Grace, it won’t be soon enough. Her death will only confirm a growing suspicion in the minds of those who follow far behind.

I start time again in hope of something, somebody who might stop this. A drop of blood falls from his cheek and spatters on the pavement. Perhaps that will be tell-tale clue they’ve been waiting for. Even so, I have allowed his anticipation to climb even higher, all the memories flooding his head. They all think these killings are somehow sexually motivated, yet they are wrong, so very wrong. If anyone heard those words he whispered, they would know just how disturbed a human soul could become. I am all too aware of this now, almost wishing I wasn’t.

I want to scream at her to run, but know full well she can’t hear my voice. There is no way for me to gesture or divert. I am like a ghost among the living, which is kind of ironic when you think about it.

I can only stop time and that is a terrible defense, a cowards’ way out. I know that there are thousands who will let her die, though I suspect their reasoning is curiosity, if not plain human nature. Even though they’ve seen the suffering that he’s caused the families, they are like me and know that will not be the case for Grace. I’m beyond the sympathetic stage by now as I can sense the beginning of the end, the rush of continued actions and reactions. I can see that what remains is far less than what has occurred.

I close my eyes and their world stops again. Yes, for now Grace is alive. I will leave her that way for a bit. Maybe I’ll go out for something to eat or visit a friend.

But I find that I am more than just the curious type. I am drawn to the maniacal workings of his mind. His disintegrating sickness fascinates me, so much so that sacrificing Grace may be my only alternative.

Yes, sooner or later, I will have to pick up the book and continue reading.